


plant hope (in your heart's wounds)

by akingnotaprincess



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Hearts, M/M, Magical Realism, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:54:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27312205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akingnotaprincess/pseuds/akingnotaprincess
Summary: The Corner Table Boys didn't have perfect lives growing up, but they had each other. After years together Malcolm decides to prove himself with the ultimate test of faith and gives his heart to Vijay. It doesn't last though and they break up, and an upset Vijay never gives Malcolm his heart back, leaving Malcom heartless. Despondent living with the void Vijay left behind Malcolm builds himself a  clockwork heart. After Vijay leaves, Malcolm finds out that he's pregnant. When Vijay and Malcolm meet again during 'The Job', Malcolm has to tell the man who literally stole his heart that he's a daddy to a toddler.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright/Vijay Chandasara
Comments: 5
Kudos: 26
Collections: Prodigal Son Big Bang 2020 - Final Posts





	1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Creative_Cha0s](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creative_Cha0s/gifts), [ponderosa121](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponderosa121/gifts), [Hannah_BWTM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannah_BWTM/gifts), [IllestRin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IllestRin/gifts).



> Many thanks to whatever55 & Zoe for being an lovely and understanding betas to work with. I'm very grateful to you both.
> 
> Many thanks to Pond & Jess for being a awesome teammates and creating beautiful art. I feel so lucky. 
> 
> Please visit, leave kudos, and comment on their works here:  
> • Pond's cover art: [here](http://ponderosa121.com/private/art/ProdigalSon_VijayMalcolm-PlantHope.jpg)  
> • Jess' lettering: [here](https://64.media.tumblr.com/47d752ec9a320c23af8b028a2e03431e/ae908e389dad1750-1c/s540x810/d7b9e3d54725e80a82ad3aa1a729cf7fc68db9e8.png), [here](https://64.media.tumblr.com/c7b63005d76a6c439421a39ba80658fc/ae908e389dad1750-a7/s540x810/14316c77fa2e0b6595cc72896f8c8402d08b0172.png), and [here](https://64.media.tumblr.com/4e0fa83212a3b8de0ca799a99030b0d8/ae908e389dad1750-87/s540x810/c5ab346fdba566c439e5c3ece1cd3ecbf883b905.png)
> 
> Additionally:  
> • Visit Pond's website [here](https://ponderosa121.carrd.co).  
> • Visit Jess' website [here](https://www.hearttolifedesigns.com/).
> 
> Shout out to the mods for running the big bang and for being supportive and understanding.
> 
> Lastly, a trillion thanks to Hannah & Rin for helping me brainstorm, squeeing over snippets, listening to my problems, always being supportive, and being the best friends anyone could ask for. I love you both so much.

It is a misconception that The Surgeon is heartless. The man who murdered and butchered at least twenty-three people while living the life as a successful doctor and married into a rich family _must_ have no heart to do all of that. Other serial killers took out their hearts to do their horrendous crimes— John Wayne Gacy, Ed Kemper, and Jeffery Dahmer to name a few. Some even had their hearts purposefully removed in order to make killing _easier._ It is not out of the way to assume that Doctor Martin Whitly, a cardiologist of all things, had no heart.

However, Malcolm knows that his father did have a heart in his killing days, and still does now locked away at Claremont.

When Malcolm was a young boy, his father taught him extensively about the human body. He was shown detailed diagrams of hearts— including some of his father's own drawings. His father has always been a good artist. Malcolm is taught about how the heart functions and what each part does to make it all work together in harmony. The heart is a particular and stubborn organ, his father always said. It was during these lessons that his father told him that people could remove their hearts and _live._

When Malcolm is nine years old, his father _shows_ him how to remove a heart. They're alone in his study late at night— well past his bedtime. It's winter and the heating in the old house isn't kind to certain rooms, which includes the study. The fire that was roaring a few hours ago is now close to dying— only a few flames rise up from the charred wood. The fire has warmed the room immensely, but Malcolm still has his cozy robe on. The walls are plastered with drawings of the human body— muscles and organs and people in all sorts of poses and detailed explanations on the side of the unlined paper of what everything did.

"Do you know what kind of doctor I am?" His father's voice is gentle, not scolding, but curious if his son knows the answer. 

Malcolm nods. "You're a cardiologist. You specialize in hearts— fixing them when they're sick."

His father smiles slightly. "That's a simplified version, but it's still true. There's a reason I asked you that. I did an operation today, a rather tough one."

Malcolm furrows his brow. Why is his dad telling him this? "Did the person die?" he asks timidly. It's the only thing he can think of as to why this was brought up.

"Oh they lived. Your dad made sure of that. Between you and me." He leans forward and cups his palm against the edge of his cheek. "I'm pretty good at my job." Then he winks, leans back in his chair once more. "They were a special case though. It's a very rare operation. One hasn't been done in… oh…" his father looks up at the ceiling and twiddles his thumbs in thought. "Fifteen years? _Waaaaay_ before you were born."

"Only by six years," Malcolm points out. "That's not _waaaaay,_ dad."

"Okay, okay not so _waaaaay,_ but it has been a long time since the last surgery has been done for this particular condition. Do you know that people can remove their heart on their own? Adults usually wait to have _that_ talk until highschool."

Malcolm nods. "I read it in a book." He's a bit confused why the topic has changed. What did this have something to do with the operation? 

"Which book? I should know how accurate it was."

"It wasn't nonfiction," he clarifies, feeling a little bad about that— like his father should expect better from him than that. "It was in The Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum. The Tin Woodsman chopped off all of his limbs with an enchanted axe. The last thing he did before chopping off his head was taking out his heart and throwing it into a river and he couldn't find it again. So when he meets Dorothy and the Scarecrow his only wish is to have a heart."

"Ah, I see. I vaguely remember that one. I haven't read it since I was your age."

 _That was so long ago that you might as well be a dinosaur from the Triassic period,_ Malcolm thinks to himself, but doesn't voice.

"That's what happened to my patient. Like the Tin Man—"

"Tin _Woods_ man."

"Excuse my ignorance," his dad says in a faux apology. "Like the Tin Woodsman my patient removed their heart and tossed it away."

"Why would someone do that?"

"Oh," his father sighs. "There's all sorts of reasons. Some people do it to just _do it_ to see what it's like. Some people find that giving your heart to someone you love as a grand gesture of trust and devotion. Some people want to be more objective in their task since there's a misconceptionthat without a heart you no longer have feelings. That's not what hearts do, Mal. It's all in their heads that having no heart makes them invincible."

"Then why were they your patient?"

"Ah, good question. You see it's alright to take out a heart, it's not okay to destroy it. See the heart is still connected to the person even if it is out of the body. If you kill the heart, you kill the person. Just like if the heart hasn't been removed at all. Like if someone had a heart attack. You understand?"

Malcolm nods very slightly. He gets that part. But… "What happens if the heart is lost?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"What if someone takes out their heart but… but misplaces it? So they don't know where it is? What happens to them?"

"Nothing changes. Consider the Tin Woodsman. He lost his heart, but he still was alive. If the heart is safe, then the person is fine. It's when harm comes to the heart that you need to worry."

Malcolm thinks for a moment. 

"What if a heart is gone… but they build themselves a fake heart?"

"Let me ask you a question about that. Why would someone do that?"

Malcolm thinks hard. "Because… because… they miss having a heart? Because they want to feel normal?"

Dad hums. "Mm-hm. There's not too many people out there who have done that, or at least that's been documented. It's tricky, building a whole new functioning heart. It takes a lot of knowledge and skill." 

"Is it not documented because of the stigma to having no heart?"

"That's right. Besides that it's hard to identify lacanas because they're only able to recognize each other. It's an evolutionary trait that hasn't gone away. It protects them, you see. From people who would want to hurt them. It lets them know they aren't alone. Thousands of years ago they would form packs or entire communities for their own safety. Nowadays in the good old twentieth century they join therapy groups or chatrooms to stick together."

Malcolm tilts his head to the side. "But who would want to hurt them?"

"People fear what they don't know, Malcolm. Someone without a heart is pretty scary to someone who still has one. They think they're inhuman. They're just as human as you and me."

"But… if only a lacana can recognize another… then how does someone with a heart find out who they are?"

"Well aren't you full of questions tonight?" his father chuckles. "People have a tendency to find out each other's secrets— to stick their nose in where it doesn't belong. Sometimes secrets can get out even when we don't want them to. It's someone we need to take care of on our own." His dad's eyes turn darker and darker as he speaks. It's almost like he's in the process of turning into another person. A few moments pass without a word until his father blinks rapidly and the darkness clouding his expression is gone. "Just remember," his dad stuck his index finger in the air. "There's nothing wrong with being a lacana, Mal. Remember that."

Lacuna. The word used to easily describe people without hearts. It's an old word that means a blank space, a missing part. 

"What happened to your patient then?" Malcolm asks.

"They gave away their heart to a bad person who almost crushed it. They had called 9-1-1 before that happened, and the police arrived in time to take the bad man away. Luckily, I was able to help them out. They're in for a long road of recovery, but they'll be fine."

"That's good. I'm glad they'll be okay after being hurt like that."

His dad nods. "I am too. Now, do you remember what we discussed last week about heart murmurs?"

They talked for perhaps fifteen more minutes— Malcolm hadn't been paying too much attention to what the old grandfather clock read. What his father had told him about hearts and his patient was still bugging him. "What's it like?"

His father stills."What's _what_ like?"

"Not having a heart?"

"Well, I wouldn't know, would I?"

That makes him sit up for a moment. Malcolm looks at his dad in confusion. "Wouldn't you? You're a cardiologist."

"From personal experience it doesn't feel like anything at all. I always felt completely normal without it."

"What… what do you mean?" He felt frightened. What was his dad saying? "What do you mean by personal experience?"

"I've taken out my heart before," he says like it is the most normal thing that everyone does. "Do you know how to take out a heart?"

Malcolm shakes his head no.

"I thought so. You see, there's a technique, son. It's an art form. Taking out a heart takes skill and plenty of practice. Everyone can do it, but there's an art to it, Malcolm. Here, let me show you." 

His father's face transforms from happy and light to serious and concentrating. It frightens Malcolm— just a little. The cold look in his father's eyes chills him to the bone. His dad keeps eye contact as he raises his arm and pushes his dominant hand _into_ his own chest. He grunts and his face contorted and shows a flicker of pain before his blank expression returns. He grunts once more and Malcolm hears a rather loud _crack_. Slowly his father pulls his hand out and holds out his own heart. His father's heart is pinkish red all over. It's still beating in his hands— expanding and contracting rapidly. It's not bloody, like Malcolm would have expected. It's disturbing to see a real heart only a couple feet away. 

"Does… Does it hurt?"

"The process or the not having the heart in my body?"

"Both? I guess?"

His father chuckles. "It hurts pulling it out, but not having a heart doesn't hurt a bit. Here," he opens Malcolm's closed fist and carefully places his heart in his palm. It's far too large to fit comfortably and Malcolm has to adjust and readjust his grip several times so he won't drop his father's heart on the floor. 

"How does it make you feel?"

Malcom scrunches up his nose. "It feels gross."

His dad lets out a hearty laugh. "Oh, my boy, the human heart is beautiful. Do you know what it means to give someone your heart?"

Malcolm shakes his head no.

"It shows a great deal of trust between the users. It shows how much they love each other." His father holds out his palm and Malcolm hands him his heart back. "There's also a great deal of trust to give it back." Malcolm watches as his dad reaches inside his chest once again.

"Dad? Why are you doing all this?"

His father looks at him for a long moment, like he's staring through Malcolm's very soul. Then he smiles ever so sweetly and runs his fingers through Malcolm's neatly combed hair, messing it up. "Because we're the same, my boy."

Malcolm gasps in horror as without warning his father thrust his hand into Malcolm's chest and slowly removes his heart. Malcolm opens his mouth to let out a scream, but finds that no sound comes out. His father had been flat out lying when he said it hurt a _little_. Tears stream down, blurring his vision. He watches his father's face— twisted and curious— as his heart is finally extracted, cradled in his father's hands. 

"You see? Isn't it beautiful, Mal?" 

He's not able to reply— his lungs burn from all the gasping and heaving. Malcolm grabs at his chest— crawling at the spot where his heart is supposed to be. His heart, his actual physical _heart_ is literally resting in his father's hands.

"Mal, breathe for me. Mal, you need to calm down. I know you just had a shock. I should have warned you first. Mal, please. Mal." His father rests a cool palm against his cheek, and the shock of the cold breaks Malcolm out of his attack. 

"Dad?" He wants to know why, why would his father do that? 

"Mal, I'm so sorry. I should have warned you and not done it _as_ abruptly. Can you look down for me?"

Malcolm does. He wipes the tears away from his eyes because he must be seeing things. In his father's left hand is his heart— just like his dad's only a little smaller. It's steadily beating— maybe it's his imagination but he can hear a faint _thump thump, thump thump_ ( _lub dub,_ his mind supplements). It's bizarre seeing his own heart out of his body. It's surreal. It doesn't churn his stomach like he thought it would. Looking at his heart seems almost normal. It's not beautiful— but perhaps he sees something more to it because of his job. 

"Take care of this, Mal," his father's voice is sweet and gentle. "Even if the day comes and you decide to give yours to someone else. Take care of it. You'll never get another."

They spend the next hour correctly practicing removing Malcolm's heart and putting it back into his body. It's not until the grandfather clock strikes midnight that his father curses and ushers him to bed.

Malcolm knows that his father has his heart, because Doctor Whitly hasn't figured out that Malcolm doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Comments & kudos are love.
> 
> Join us at the Prodigal Son Trash discord server (18+). [Click here.](https://discord.gg/MyKracR)


	2. CHAPTER ONE

Winters have always been harsh in D.C. Nowhere near as freezing as New York or Boston can get, but it's no picnic either. It snowed a few days ago— the sidewalks are cleared off but along the curb is a thick hard wall of brown sloshy snow. Malcolm pulls his wool coat closer to his body as a heavy breeze blows by. 

Malcolm is about to pull open the door to his favorite indie coffee spot when a man in an expensive suit ( _much_ more expensive than Malcolm owns) breezes past him, completely absorbed in looking down at his cell. Malcolm jumped back to avoid being hit. He holds the door open for a young man— probably seventeen— wearing a classic Jansport backpack and air pods in his ears blasting music so loud that Malcolm has no problem hearing the lyrics. The line is long— the last person is only a few feet to the door. Malcolm has a choice— skip his morning coffee and be on time for work or get his coffee and probably be late. It's an easy choice to make as he steps up and stands behind the man in a nice suit. Malcolm is about to pull out his Blackberry from his coat pocket, when a familiar voice inquires, "Whitly?"

Malcolm raises his head. The man in front of him is gorgeous— just as he had thought when they went to school together. Except now he's filled out and matured. "Vijay?"

His old friend smiles from ear to ear. "So it is you! How are you doing, man?" Vijay claps his hand on his shoulder. "What are you doing in D.C.?"

"I work here. For the government. FBI," he clarifies, trying his best not to be smug. "Criminal profiler."

Vijay blinks rapidly. "Really? Oh wow. That's impressive."

"Thanks. What about you?"

"I work here too for the treasury department… Wow," Vijay says appreciatively, sighing. "You look really good." 

Malcolm blushes under the scrutiny. It's a bit obvious that his old friend is checking him out. His brown eyes rake over his body, taking him all in. Malcolm isn't sure what there is to see especially when he's wearing layers to walk to work. 

"Erm, thanks. You look good too. Great even." And he really does. His dark hair is slicked back giving him an air of importance. There is a hint of stubble on his face. Vijay is dressed similar to Malcolm— nice expensive suit and a wool coat. He appears to be well put together and had an air of professionalism about him. It was his eyes that drew Malcolm in the most. He had always noticed Vijay's eyes. They were dark, somehow cheerful and inviting. "So you like coffee?" Malcolm cringes at his own words after they come out.

"Yeah," Vijay replies like it's normal and not an embarrassing question to ask in a _coffee shop._ "Cafe mocha. Extra whipped cream." The man licks his lips. 

Malcolm's eyes widen and there's a hitch in his breath. Was… Was Vijay flirting with him? No, it couldn't be— not with him. Vijay had definitely been eyeing him, but flirting was entirely different.

Yes, Malcolm had a high opinion of himself— he's used to being the smartest person in the room. But when it comes to matters like love and sex he has always been clueless. He's never been in love— not that he thinks, and no one has been in love with him in return. Even with Tobias— and they were together for two years. 

_"You never let me in. You never let us get close,"_ Toby said before he took all of his things out of their small apartment and left.

How could Malcolm get close to anyone romantically? He's the son of a serial killer. Who in their right mind would want that? Flirting… Malcolm had no idea how to go about flirting. He'd never been very good at it.

What had Vijay said? _Oh,_ this coffee order. 

"I drink…"

The person behind Malcolm, that he hadn't noticed before coughed rather loudly to announce their presence.

Vijay turned his head and saw that the line had moved up quite a bit since they started chatting. Both of them moved forward in the queue. 

"Do you come here often?" Malcolm asks. He doesn't want to even try and think of a flirty response to what kind of coffee he drinks.

"Yeah," Vijay confirms. "It's one of my go-to spots. I come around once or twice a week."

"I wonder why I have never seen you. I'm here every morning."

Vijay shrugs. "I'm early for work for once and thought hey why not swing by my favorite place to get coffee?"

"Oh, I see. I'm usually here at this time. It's so funny that we both lived here and never knew." Malcolm notes that Vijay is paying attention to everything he says— he is giving the correct nonverbal cues. It makes Malcolm's heart flutter. 

"I'm glad I was early today. I would have missed you.

Malcolm looks down at the floor and grins to himself. "Yeah. Yeah it would have been a shame if you'd been on time.'' He means it genuinely. It feels nice seeing Vijay again after all these years. Malcolm does have questions and hangups about the way their friendship in school ended, but they're older— they're different people now. It would be best if Malcolm let the past stay in the past… For once. He just has to keep remembering that.

"Next!"

Vijay jumps, so engrossed in their talk that he is startled. He turns to step up, and once he reaches the counter he looks behind him and cocks his head to the cashier. "Come on," he tells Malcolm. "My treat."

"No, Vijay," Malcolm protests. He stays put where he is in the line— refusing to budge and step forward by Vijay's side. "That's not.. You don't have to—"

"But I want to," Vijay interrupts. "I haven't seen you since high school. At least let me buy you coffee." Vijay pulls a pleading, puppy dog eyes face. "Come on," he twists his wrist to gesture to the empty spot beside him. "What do you want?"

Malcolm is about to protest again when he catches the eye of a very miffed teenager with their lips puckered and giving him a death glare. 

He sighs. "Okay then. I concede." Malcolm takes the couple steps to stand in front of the cashier, who instantly loses her expression and it is replaced by a bright friendly face.

"Hi, how are you two doing today?"

Vijay flashes her a smile, oblivious to the girl's fake display. "We're great, thank you,"

"What can I get for you two?"

Vijay keeps his head straight, but his eyes roam over Malcolm's body once again before settling on his face— making eye contact. "Cafe mocha with extra whipped cream."

Malcolm's face feels warm and he is pretty sure a blush is creeping up from his neck to his cheeks. Malcolm gulps. He didn't recall Vijay being this flirty back in school. Of course they were only young teenagers. Not that teenagers don't flirt. 

"What's the name for the order?" They pick up a cup and a sharpie ready to jot down the name.

"Vijay. V-I-J-A-Y."

"Thank you," she says with a lift at the end of her sentence. She puts the empty cup to the side where a barista snatches it and begins to work. "And you, sir?" she asks looking at Malcolm.

"Oh, um, black coffee, please."

"Name?

"Bright." Malcolm notices Vijay lifting a single eyebrow in question. All he did was shrug his shoulders in response. 

The cashier repeats the action with writing his order and name on the cup and sliding it over to the next area. "Will that be all for you today?"

Vijay glances over at Malcolm, who shakes his head. "Nothing for me."

"We're good," Vijay confirms. "Nothing else, thank you."

"Okay," The teen presses a few buttons on the register. "That'll be $6.49. Would you like to round up your total to $7.00 and donate to An Open Book to help primary and secondary students to provide them with books that will nurture and boost skills in their adult life?"

"Sure, why not?"

The girl taps at the register again, then asks if they will be paying with cash or credit. Vijay pays for them both, much to Malcolm's mild irritation. Malcolm pulls out a few dollar bills from his wallet and stuffs them into the rather sorry looking jar that has a piece of lined paper sloppily taped on it that reads 'TIPS'.

They move on down to the other end of the counter where customers pick up their orders. There's an electronic board hanging from the ceiling that let's everyone know whose order they are working on. Vijay and Malcolm's names are in the column of orders not started yet. 

Vijay faces his back to the counter and leans against it, his elbows resting on the cool surface. He tilts his head back to the ceiling and closes his eyes. It takes Malcolm's breath away. Vijay always had a certain cool-ness about him. Always relaxed, always go with the flow. Watching him here, now, years later, it appears that he hasn't lost that part of himself. 

"Bright?"

"Hm?" Malcolm is taken away from his thoughts by Vijay's smooth voice. "Oh. I legally changed it a few years ago. I'm Malcolm Bright."

Vijay nods, understanding. "I get it. Might take me awhile to stop calling you Whitly. Out of habit."

"That's fine." It's _not,_ but Malcolm hardly wants to get into an argument with someone he's just reunited with after a decade. Malcolm decides to keep the conversation going. "Do you live here? In D.C. I mean?"

Vijay shakes his head. "Nah, it costs a fortune to live in the city. I live out in Silver Spring. I drive in everyday. Spring Silver costs too much to live out there too, but I got lucky and rented a big house. It's nice to have my things spread out, you know?"

Malcolm reaches and scratches the back of his neck. "I wouldn't know actually. I have a studio at The Woodley."

"Holy shit, really?" Vijay straightens up and looks at Malcolm with wide eyes. "That place is absolutely gorgeous."

"It's just a studio. I don't need something big," he says. "It's only me and the few things I have. I don't need too much." Which was true. Malcolm hardly used his refrigerator or the oven. He was able to exercise just fine with what was around him. The only space problem he had was that his weapons collection was growing— and he was finding it more difficult to put it all on display to look at whenever he liked. Briefly he had thought about upsizing to a new place, but hadn't so far. He enjoyed his current apartment. The location was great, and for some miraculous reason none of his neighbors were bothered by his odd night terrors. 

Malcolm checks the board and sees that both of their drinks are being made. He looks back at Vijay to find that he's being stared at. "What?"

"Hm?" That seems to have snapped the man out of it. "Ah, sorry. I was admiring your watch. Patek Philippe right?"

"Yeah." Malcolm thumbs at his watch— the one his mother bought for him as a present for his graduation at Harvard University. "I don't have too many," he admits. "Only this one and an antique I bought on a whim at an auction. I mean sort of. It wasn't a complete watch— it was a bunch of parts to an old one."

Vijay furrows his brow. "Why'd do that?"

Malcolm shrugs and pouts. "I'm not sure. It was an impulse buy."

"That's a special kind of impulse buy. Not that I can criticize. One time I bought a yacht because I liked the look of it. I was vacationing in Spain. I saw the start of The Ocean Race. It was a complete piece of crap."

"Did you give it a name?"

The left side of Vijay's lip ticks upwards. "The Titanic 3," he answers in all seriousness.

Malcolm violently coughs— trying his best to hold back barking out a loud laugh. He holds it in so hard that his chest starts to ache and the next thing he knows is that Vijay is by his side slapping his back.

"Are you okay, Whit— Bright?" 

Malcolm coughs a final time and waves his friend off. 

"It's not _that_ funny." Vijay smirks, knowing full well how hilarious it is.

"It's one of the funniest things I have ever heard," Malcolm laughs. "So, ,um…" God, he must sound ridiculous. "Um…" he tries to grasp at something to say— something normal to say. "How long have you lived around here?" He breathes a sigh of relief. That was a normal question.

"Only a few months," Vijay answers. "My job moves me around a lot. Before this I was in Parkersburg for half of a year. Do not recommend it unless you're into meth. Before that I was in Seattle for two years," Vijay ticks off each place on his fingers. "Houston for a month. I actually enjoyed it despite the heat. I lived in Mississauga for a year on a work visa." VIjay looks straight at Malcolm as he says, "Hopefully I'll stay here for a while."

Malcolm opens his mouth to speak when his phone buzzes in his pocket.

_Where are you? The meeting started fifteen minutes ago._

He checks the time on his phone and his calendar to see his schedule. Fuck he got the time wrong for the meeting. His boss was going to kill him.

"It looks like I have to head out after we get our drinks. I'm late for a meeting."

"Oh." Vijay's smile falters. "Oh okay man."

"Hey, um, um." God, Malcolm is so bad at this. "Um, would you want to have dinner sometime? To catch up?"

A bright smile crosses Vijay's face— one that shows teeth. "Yeah. That'd be cool man. I'm free tonight if you're available."

"I think my schedule is achingly free. Seven okay?"

"Yeah," he agrees. "Johnny's okay with you? I've never been."

"Sounds great." 

Their names are called out at the same time, and both men grab their hot drinks. They take a brief moment to exchange numbers before saying goodbye. 

A few coworkers comment on how he seems happier than usual. Malcolm smiles back at all of them and says, "Things might be looking up."

* * *

The food at Johnny's was as Malcolm remembered. Malcolm ordered crab imperial and Vijay got the kale salad with a side of spoon bread. They shared dessert— apple cake, and Malcolm swears that Vijay was flirting with him— eating the cake slowly, savoring the taste as he looked at Malcolm's eyes. It didn't make Malcolm uncomfortable at all— it aroused him somewhat. One would think that Vijay already knew that Malcolm has an oral fixation. It made him feel wanted and hopeful. He thought Vijay was appealing, and it looked like Vijay thought the same way about him. 

Vijay pays, _again_ , despite all of Malcolm's protests. In the end he lets it slight, and makes a mental note to make a trip to Johnny's on his own soon and give a rather hefty tip to whoever was serving him. 

"If it wasn't December, I would suggest we take a stroll along the mall," Vijay admits. He stands and fastens the button on his wool jacket. "Unless you'd be okay with taking a stroll in twenty degree weather with an old friend."

"Yeah, sure," Malcolm answers quickly. "That sounds nice." 

"Cool." Vijay's smile is so addicting and Malcolm can't help but to smile back. 

The pair walk slowly along the National Mall— it's beautifully lit and in the far distance it's easy to see the colorful and festive National Christmas tree. They spend the better part of the hour continuing where they left off their conversation at dinner. It's easy, natural. Vijay is still charming and flirty. They walk so close together that their shoulders touch. Several times Malcolm wants to take out the hand from his own pocket and grasp hold of Vijay's gloved one that has dangled by his side for the duration of their stroll. His friend's cinnamon scented cologne is pleasing, calming even.

"Hey." Vijay stops in his tracks, and Malcolm stops a few steps ahead and turns to face his friend.

"Is something wrong?"

"No," the 'o' comes out elongated. Vijay is staring at his own shoes and not speaking anymore, which is very unlike him. Vijay is an excellent talker. 

"Vijay?"

He took a deep breath, stood straight, and looked straight at Malcolm. "I know we just met for the first time in years today, but," Vijay clicks his tongue. "It probably sounds creepy but I've had a really great time with you. It feels like we click. And," Vijay takes in Malcolm and blows out an appreciative puff of air that shows off in winter air. "You're gorgeous. Only thing I could think about today was you. I want to get to know you more." For the first time Vijay looks nervous. He looks down at his designer shoes that are inappropriate for the streets after it snowed earlier in the week. A few seconds go by until Vijay lifts his head. "Would you want to go on a date?"

"This doesn't count as a date?"

The corner of Vijay's lips tick upwards. "I suppose it is." His friend takes the initiative, pulling Malcolm's freezing cold hands from the depths of his pockets and holds them tightly. "Want to go on another one?

* * *

"I didn't know that axe throwing was a thing,"

Malcolm squares his shoulders, takes a deep breath, and throws. The hatchet lands on the outermost ring. He turns around to face Vijay, walking backwards toward the target stand. "It's not just a _thing,"_ Malcolm explains. "It's a sport."

Vijay rolls his eyes. "Bright, we're at a sports bar. The only sports that are in bars are darts, billiards, and wet t-shirt contests."

Malcolm scrunches up his nose. "I don't think they have wet t-shirt contests anymore."

Vijay shrugs, but is clearly grossed out by the idea as well. "There was that 'It's Always Sunny' episode. Besides I'm sure some backwoods hick small town still does them." He takes up a hatchet, stands at the line, throws and completely misses the target— the weapon clattering to the ground a few feet before the wooden dart board. "Fuck, why can't I get this right?"

"Let me help you." Malcolm gathers the hatchet and returns to where his boyfriend is standing, setting it down by their feet. "We'll do this without the axe first.". He nudges Vijay's legs so his stance is wider. Malcolm stands behind Vijay, manipulating his body to the correct form. "Relax your shoulders. There that's it." 

Malcolm blushes as he realizes that his cock is flush with Vijay's ass. He absolutely cannot have sexual thoughts here… but his mind conjures up images of foreplay— teasing Vijay until his boyfriend would have enough of it and take control at his own speed. 

Carefully, he takes a step back and instructs his boyfriend on how to let go of the hatchet. 

* * *

Malcolm can't stop laughing as he bounces into the air and does another Grande Jeté, sticking the landing to then do a jump on the air like any normal person would do. Vijay is jumping on the square of a trampoline. He can tell it's his boyfriend by the outline, but also his green neon long sleeve shirt with the glow in the dark alien face is a dead give away. 

"I told you this would be fun!" Vijay yells over the dance music pounding through the stereos and the laughter and shrieks from the other jumpers.

It had been Vijay's turn to pick the date, and he decided to keep it a secret. All he hinted at was to wear comfortable clothing and meet up at Vijay's place because it was a twenty minute drive. Malcolm hadn't pictured a trampoline park as a date— let alone a glow party. 

The music has a heavy beat that hurts Malcolm's ears to a degree and the laser lights keep flashing across his eyes. Those two things are the only negatives of the night. The purple glow is somehow beautiful and makes everything have ethereal atmosphere. 

Malcolm laughs as his boyfriend grabs his hands as they bounce in front of each other— playing a silly game of trying their best to keep their grip as they went up and down at different speeds.

It's when they are doing this that Vijay purposefully slows so he isn't jumping into the air any longer. Malcolm slows down as well, and when he's effectively steady on his feet, he opens his mouth to ask his boyfriend if something was wrong, The next thing he knows is registering Vijay surging forward— his large hands cup the back of his head, staring intently into Malcolm's eyes before brushing his lips against Malcolm's mouth.

It's an odd first kiss. It is a bit chaotic and sloppy since there's no way for either of them to be still as they stand in the middle of a giant room that's wall to wall trampolines. Both of them try their best nonetheless to go slow— explore each other in this way for the first time.

A few children nearby called "Ooooo!" as they continued to kiss. Malcolm pulls back only a few inches to chuckle.

* * *

Malcolm has never been one for high society social events. Sure, he fits in well to a degree, but it's not his scene. He has to be convinced and dragged by the collar to attend.

This time is different. Vijay asked if he'd like to go to the Pink Tie Party as part of the Cherry Blossom Festival. Of course Vijay had a pitch, but soon enough Malcolm melts and agrees to go. 

The whole building is tastefully decorated, but has quirkiness to it all. Cherry blossoms illuminate the ceiling, and the entire main room is flooded with pink and purple lights. Various companies have sponsored different fun activities including swing sets and scenes that people can stand in front of and get their photo taken.

All of the guests are wearing at least one thing that is pink in their outfit. They dress sharply as usual, but don pale pink ties that match the color of the blossoms.

They mostly dance and drink pink champagne, but Malcolm's favorite moments are when they sit at their assigned table simply talking to each other about nothing in particular. 

* * *

"Vijay? As in Vijay Chandasara? The Vijay who fucked you over so bad that I knew something was wrong with you at _ten._ _That_ Vijay."

Malcolm rolls his eyes at the ceiling of his loft. "Yes, _that_ Vijay," he tells his sister. He had a feeling he shouldn't have told her this, but he's found that as he gets older it becomes harder to lie to her. He stands up and paces the length of the loft before finally settling on sitting back on his low sofa. He gazes out of the floor to ceiling cathedral window overlooking St Thomas Apostle Catholic Church.

"Are you insane?"

"Legally speaking, no. Father wasn't even found legally insane."

He hears Ainsley huff in annoyance.. "We're not talking about him, we're talking about _you._ Seriously. How did you even meet him?"

"At a coffee shop. He was standing in front of me and recognized me."

"And this happened when?"

Malcolm grimaces. "Six months ago." He winces and holds the phone away from his ear as Ainsley's exclamation of "WHAT?! Why am I only hearing about this?"

"I'm sorry," he mumbles. "I meant to tell you sooner but I've been busy with work. I swear I didn't mean to hide it from you." He pauses, waiting for an answer but when none comes he confesses, "I think I might be in love with him."

"Goddamnit!" Then Malcolm hears someone in the background yelling and his sister gives them a quick apology. "Goddamnit," she repeats in a more civil tone than is usually used for the particular word.

Malcolm frowns. "That's not the reaction I was hoping for." 

"How do you expect me to react? He _broke_ you. How can you justify that?"

 _Vijay did not break me,_ Malcolm thinks.

"You want me to justify that I might be in love with him?"

AInsley lets out an _ugh_. "Okay, it sounds bad when you say it. Do you think he like-likes you back?"

" _Like-likes?_ We're in middle school now?" he jokes and it falls flat.

"You know what I mean."

"I don't know."

"You're a profiler with the FBI; how can you not know?"

"People can change over the years and have different tells. Hell, it can be hard to read people you're close to at times. We're different people now," he argues. "We were fourteen and dumb."

"Now you're twenty-four and dumb." she snaps. He hears his sister apologize and say goodbye to people one by one. Then a heavy door slams shut and a strong breeze crackles through the speaker.

"Where are you?" 

"Just left a party. It was boring anyway. I'm going to get an Uber after I talk to you. I can text you the info on my ride. At least now I can be pissed off at you and not be scolded by a bunch of juniors getting scammed into buying rabbit vibrators and flavored lube."

"T.M.I.!" God he really didn't want to know that his sister went to a sex toy party.

"I really need to go, but please listen to me, okay? Don't let him hurt you again, Malcolm." She whispers into the phone so softly that he has to strain to hear. "I don't think I can bear to see that."

Malcolm strokes the rough fabric of his jeans, imagining that if Ainsley was here he would comfort her— put his hands on top of hers and squeeze so she knows that she's not alone in this, "I don't think I can either. I can take care of myself."

There's a long pause over the phone that lasts for several beats. "That's what I am afraid of."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Comments & kudos are love.
> 
> Join us at the Prodigal Son Trash discord server (18+). [Click here.](https://discord.gg/MyKracR)


	3. CHAPTER TWO

They searched for little over a year for their perfect place to call home. Finding somewhere within their price range, within forty minutes from the heart of D.C.— something big enough for Vijay to feel comfortable and fit Malcolm's want of a smaller setting. In the end their dream home was in Rockville. Their rented two story brick faced house soon enough becomes a home. 

* * *

"Fuck," Malcolm whispers into his cell phone that he's holding between his ear and shoulder. He thrust his pelvis to give himself an extra edge as he jerks his cock faster. He knows he's close— that feeling in his groin is building and building and he desperately needs release. "Please, Vijay," he begs. "Please God, can I come?"

His boyfriend's familiar laugh flitters over the phone. "Do you think you've earned it, baby boy?" Vijay' groans as he reaches his own orgasm. 

Malcolm's eyes practically popped out of his head when Vijay called him baby boy. His mind seems to go blank because being called baby boy is in no way a turn off. "Please…"

"Come for me."

It only takes a few strokes until Malcolm's hot cum slicks his fingers and drips onto the floor.

"Fuck, that was insane."

Malcolm has to agree. Truthfully, he's never had phone sex, but maybe that was a mistake because he's never had an orgasm like that in his life.

"You should go out of state on help in cases more often," his boyfriend muses, still trying to catch his breath.

* * *

The glaring bright light from the laptop screen is the only thing that shines in the office. Malcolm has been hiding there for the whole night. He and Vijay got into an argument. He doesn't remember what the fight had been about anymore, but the frustration is still there. 

A few minutes after Malcolm hears Vijay's alarm clock go off, he gets an apology text from his boyfriend. The apology seems hollow, but at least it's something.

* * *

At one in the morning Malcolm wakes up to his text notifications chiming several times in a row. At first he thought it was work, but when he rolled over, fumbled for the cell and checked the caller I.D., he wasn't too surprised to see that they were all from Jackie. Earlier in the day Malcolm received a video call from Jackie out of the blue. She was sick and tired of only hearing about Vijay and wanted to see the man for herself.

_Hey hon. Hope I'm not waking you._

_But then again you have chronic insomnia too…_

_OMG what if you finally got to sleep and now I woke you up?????_

_Anyway, I enjoyed chatting with you today/yesterday. We have to do it more often. I've missed your face._

_Just wanted to tell you that your boyfriend is Jackie approved. 👍_

_Love you!!_

* * *

D.C. has one of the best Pride events that Malcolm has ever been to. There's a different vibe here then other cities. Everyone is so alive with excitement and dancing all around. The colors are blinding— a forest of every shade you could think of all represented here all at once. Kinksters are dressed in tight and revealing leather, drag queens are drenched in so much glitter that Malcolm and Vijay are covered with the stuff by brushing up against someone. 

It's beautiful.

Malcolm dresses low-key and only wears a bisexual flag striped applewatch for represention. He never had the urge to express his sexuality to the world, but he has to do something for Capital Pride. 

VIjay however has always been open about his sexuality and the parade only brings it out front and center. He wears a rainbow boa around his throat and shoulders, rainbow eyeblack, rainbow booty shorts that shows off his muscular thighs, as well as a tight-fitting t-shirt that reads in rainbow letters: Not only am I AWESOME I'm GAY too!

They travel down the parade route as the floats go by. Vijay flirts with whoever they happen to speak with because he's Vijay and that's how he is. They buy a few things from vendors— Malcolm buys a special kind of bird seed that's tied with a bisexual pride bow for Sunshine to try out, and Vijay purchases a new pair of earbuds (rainbow of course) to replace his pair that are dying, a new gym tank top, and a silk tie that has all of the pride flags on it. 

When they reach the children's area, Vijay stops dead in his tracks and stares intensely at all the kids. They're giggling as they run around chasing each other. They're getting their faces painted. They're doing arts and crafts like sand art bottles and making tie dye shirts.

Malcolm does a half circle to stand in front of his boyfriend. "Vijay you look creepy staring at all the kids."

"I don't want kids."

Malcolm blinks. "Excuse me?" This isn't a conversation he ever expected to have and it takes him off guard— especially the bitterness in Vijay's voice. Having children is something that crossed Malcolm's mind years and years ago, but was quickly dismissed. 

"I don't want kids. Not after what my father did to me— after that your father did to you. I can't do it." It's now that Malcolm notices that both of Vijay's hands are curled into tight fists. 

Malcolm loosely wraps his arms around his boyfriend's shoulders, pulling him forward, and planting a soft kiss on the side of his neck. "Okay. That's okay."

* * *

Hello Fresh is supposed to be easy. They supply the ingredients and a detailed instructions so simple to follow to that it's foolproof. The owners of Hello Fresh have never met Malcolm Bright. The difficulty level was easy. It's only pasta and vegetables. Nothing too fancy. All he has to do is boil water, put the pasta in the pot for ten minutes, drain the pasta and add in the tomato sauce given in the kit. 

Vijay wraps his arms around Malcolm's middle and rests his chin on his shoulder. "Do I smell burning?"

"Water. How did I burn water?"

His boyfriend kisses his cheek. "We'll order out, baby boy."

"But _water_ , Vijay…"

"I'm sure Gordan Ramsey burnt water at some point in his life. Don't beat yourself up. How about you call in our usuals at Nawab? We can clean all of this up while we wait for the food to get here." 

"We should cancel our subscription to Hello Fresh."

"Yeah that would probably be wise."

* * *

Malcolm has faced numerous hurdles in his life— finding out that his father is a serial killer and turning him in to the police, constantly working on getting a hold of his traumas, all of the difficulties it took for him to get accepted to Quantico. But none of that, none of it, compares to the hurt of Jackie dying.

Gil has been there for him almost for all of his life— it's Malcolm's time to return the favor. By teleworking he's able to stay in the city for a week and a half to help with the funeral and begin the slow process of picking up the pieces. He wishes he could have done more.

Vijay is the one who keeps him sane. He works tirelessly on making distractions like watching 1950s and 60s B movies, or have Malcolm try to teach him how to play Risk for the thirtieth time, or spend a few hours at Skyzone since it's only ten minutes away from their house. Vijay is there to hold and comfort him when he breaks down crying at any given time— the one who forces him to get out of bed even though Malcolm wishes to stay curled up in the warmth of the covers— the one who helps him to survive this.

* * *

In their bedroom they put up a string of white lights for something different. It makes Malcolm feel like he's in a magical land— surrounded by faeries and fireflies. The lights swing as the breeze from the open window sneaks through. 

"Are… Are you sure about this?" Vijay's voice trembles. 

"Yes," he replies with all confidence. "I've thought about it for awhile."

Malcolm stares right into his boyfriend's eyes as he bends his arm at the elbow, and as carefully, but as quickly as he can, plunges his fist into his chest cavity. His memory on human autonomy serves him well, and he grasps hold of his heart on the first try. 

Malcolm does his best to school his expression, but he must look like he's in pain by the way Vijay keeps trying to reach out and grab him to make sure he's okay, but then will pull back

It takes a second to completely dislodge his heart, but finally Malcolm is holding his beating heart in his hand and offering it to his boyfriend. "You don't have to give me yours," Malcolm quickly assures. "I know it's hard to do."

Gingerly, Vijay accepts the heart.

* * *

Vijay pushes Malcolm against the nearest wall— his fingers grasping the lapels of Malcolm's nice shirt. Malcolm runs his fingers through Vijay's neatly combed hair— messing it up. Their lips crush together in a bruising and desperate kiss. Malcolm groans as he grinds his body against Vijay's and feels his boyfriend's erection. 

"Ride me," Vijay says breathlessly. "Ride my leg. Fuck yes, just like that. Just like that, baby boy."

Malcolm whimpers against his boyfriend's neck, sucking and making a bruise along his clavicle. He picks up the pace and adjusts the pressure of his erection on Vijay's leg. "Please," he begs, whispering into his boyfriend's ear.. "Fuck me. Fuck me right here."

"Seriously? You want us to have sex in the stairwell of an office building? Where anyone could walk in on us?"

"I can't wait," Malcolm whines. He blows a controlled breath along Vijay's earlobe. "I need you inside of me. Fuck me bare. I want you to come in me. Please, fuck me. Fuck me rough and fast. Fuck me so I'll feel it for days."

Vijay moans deeply, throwing his head back. "Baby boy."

They have sex against the wall— hot, dirty, quick. Vijay goes balls deep as he pounds Malcolm's ass. As someone who is incredibly vocal during sex, Malcolm tries his best to keep silent so they won't get caught. Malcolm fists his cock and after a few strokes he orgasms— trying his best to catch all of his come into his other hand so it doesn't shoot all over the wall. Vijay comes deep inside of Malcolm— surprisingly very little come escapes from his abused hole. They giggle as they rush to straighten themselves up and make it look as though they didn't have a quickie in public.

* * *

"I don't like your friends!" Malcolm yells across the upstairs hallway as Vijay takes the last step onto the landing. The argument started in the car and has spilled over into their house.

Vijay fumes, "That's a fucking shitty thing to say. That's not fair and you know it!"

"Yes, yes it is. I'm tired of going to all the bar crawls, and Nationals games, and fucking car shows! I'm tired of it. I get so bored. It's not like any of them can stand me."

"That's not—"

"Sai told me to my face that I was an egotistical twat."

"Sai's an dick."

"Coby and Ruhaan were there and agreed," Malcolm presses his lips together and squints his eyes as he fake smiles. "Frankly I'm surprised any of them knew the word egotistical at all."

Vijay chuckles for a moment. "That is pretty impressive." His shoulders aren't as bunched up and tense a moment ago. He says with a light air, "I don't get along with your friends either."

Malcolm whirls on his boyfriend. "You mean when we have to go to the annual dinners at Christmas? Those are my co-workers— not my friends." It pains Malcolm to admit, "I don't have friends."

"Maybe that's the problem," Vijay counters.

Malcolm doesn't even want to get started there. It reminds him too much of their time in school and living through all that was painful enough. "You could have told me as soon as you knew about the wedding. I would have not asked to be assigned the Kitty Wilson case or for time off to go."

Vijay spits bitterly, "You're _always_ working." 

Malcolm can't deny it.

* * *

_"I'm moving to Oregon. New job. Better pay."_

_"Oh."_

Malcolm does one last walk around the place he's called home for the past few years. Only a month ago this place was viberant with life. Now his home lays bare for whoever will occupy it once he gives the landlord all the keys.

The books on antique cars that have been stacked knee high are all gone, as well as the plush leather love seat next to it. Sunshine's bird cage and supplies are now situated in the corner next to one of the large windows in Malcolm's new studio apartment back at The Woodley— where he lived when he reunited with Vijay. All of his bed restraints for when he has a spell of night terrors are hooked into Malcolm's new bed. The entire kitchen is spotless for the first time since they had moved in. The dark half-moon smudges on the stairs where one or two pieces of furniture brushed against the wall have been painted over. All of the ink drawings of birds and beautiful calligraphy that Vijay has done over the years that hung on almost every wall have been taken down and followed him to Oregon. A decal above the front door reads 'I am laying roots where I please' has been ripped away.

_"I know you don't want to move to the west coast so I didn't bother asking. Would you have—?"_

_"No, D.C. is my home."_

_"Yeah… Yeah that's what I thought."_

_"I'm not much for the rain."_

_"It's not like it rains all the time."_

Malcolm opens and closes all of the closet doors to find a void of space— the small closet next to the guest bathroom that was stacked with plush towels that would always tumble onto the ground every time it was opened is to the 'nice' walk-in closet in their bedroom where all of their suits hung, their shoes lay on shoe racks, and both of their collections of watches were hidden.

_"I'm not interested in having a long distance relationship."_

_"Neither am I. Is this it then?"_

_"I suppose so... I don't want it to be."_

_"I don't either, but I don't know how we can make it work."_

_"I still love you."_

_"Yeah."_

He feels so empty— just like his home— just like where his heart should be. He pauses outside of the front door and takes it all in once more. With a deep sigh, Malcolm closes the door on this part of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Comments & kudos are love.
> 
> Join us at the Prodigal Son Trash discord server (18+). [Click here.](https://discord.gg/MyKracR)


	4. CHAPTER THREE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the mpreg chapter.

The idea comes to him in the middle of night after finding himself huddled on the floor of the shower with all of his clothes on— freezing cold water is probably what woke him up from his night terror. He's missing a heart… Why not build another?

Acquiring the parts isn't difficult at all. Trips to thrift stores, venturing into hardware stores, responding to ads on Craigslist, and Amazon Prime same day delivery makes it all too easy. Malcolm smiles politely at the cashiers who ask what he's building. He keeps it simple, "I'm building a clock." It's not a lie, just not the whole truth.

Assembling all the heart is where he stumbles onto road blocks. Malcolm has never been an engineer, but it helps that his brain tips on the side of logic. After a while he gets the hang of it. The schematic that's been on the front of his mind finally becomes reality.

It takes practice to put the heart into his body and in the right place. The clockwork replacement needs to fit perfectly, not even a millimeter out of place. Malcolm has to make sure that the 'organ' doesn't interfere with the rest of his body, so the rest of him isn't tainted.

In the end it takes a month and a half to complete. 

He doesn't want to do this alone— he's already isolated enough now that he's a lacana. Malcolm shoots off texts to Gil, his mother, and his sister about what he's done. None of them are happy. They're scared. They're worried. They are all angered by what Vijay has done. 

* * *

Malcolm isn't dense— he knows something is wrong. His habits have changed in the last few weeks. His sleep has always been laughable, but recently he's found that he's more tired than usual. He's been taking naps almost every day. He doesn't take naps. Ever. He hasn't had a single nap in well over a decade. That's strike one. His taste in food has been changing. He's eating more than before and finding that he's craving turkey sausage rolled up in a pancake. Lately he's been having it for almost every meal. He is finding that if he skips a meal his body rebels and he vomits. Strike two. The oddest thing of all is that he's sweating excessively. It's winter. It's below freezing outside. Why is he sweating so much and so fast? He finds that he needs to bring extra shirts to the office and change fairly frequently. Strike three.

He calls in at work claiming to be sick and the promise that he'd be back in the office tomorrow. Then he makes a call to his doctor's office and is able to get an appointment for that day. Malcolm hates himself when he informs the RN about his heart. He doesn't need to look at her to know her shock and pity— it's in her voice as she continues his intake after a gigantic pause.

After telling the physician assistant about his symptoms, she orders a blood test to help cross off some possible causes.

The blood test says it all.

He's pregnant.

* * *

A cheery tune comes out of his phone's speaker— letting him know that he was receiving a video phone call. Gil's photo flashes across the screen. Malcolm doesn't want to answer the call, even though he was the one who requested they talk face to face. If he tells Gil, the pregnancy will be more real.

Malcolm closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and swipes his phone to accept the call. Gil takes up his entire screen He's worried— his face is stern, eyes full of concern and his frown deep. 

"What's wrong, kid?" Gil asks as his greeting. "You never want to video chat."

Malcolm's stomach seemed to have flipped when Gil called him _kid._ He wonders if his father figure will continue to call him that after he tells him.

Malcolm answers vaguely "Something happened."

Gil shifts, sitting up straighter and maneuvering his phone to get his face in the frame. Malcolm can see that he's sitting at his desk in the living room. The 1940s pink floral wallpaper comes into view as does the couch with the navy blue with a single pale yellow stripe crocheted throw that Jackie had worked on for three years. "What is it? Are you hurt?"

"No…" Malcolm looks down at his stomach, and puts his hand over it. What will Gil think of him? He knows that Gil will support him no matter what, but what will he _actually_ think?

"You're scaring me. Malcolm, what's going on?"

In his head Malcolm counts backwards from ten: ten, nine, eight… As he reaches one he hears Gil say: "Malcolm."

He lifts his head up, looks at Gil's concerned face. "I'm pregnant."

There. It's out there.

Gil isn't smiling. He doesn't seem horrified. His face has gone a shade paler, and there's a slight hint of sadness that is portrayed in his eyes. "Should I say congratulations?"

Malcolm is taken aback and he furrows his brow. He'd never thought of that before. "Maybe?" he answers, even though he knows that the answer won't satisfy his friend.

"Does he know?"

Gil doesn't know it, but Malcolm is grateful that he did not ask who was the father. He had seen that too many times in films, shows, and plays that it was too cliche. It would have implied that Malcolm wasn't faithful to Vijay since he'd left only a month ago. 

"No," Malcolm says— steadier than he thought he would be. "Vijay doesn't know. I don't plan on telling him either."

Gil huffs. "Kid, he should tell him that he's going to be a father."

"He never wanted kids. We talked about it before," Malcolm adds at Gil's quizzical expression. "Vijay was loud and clear that he didn't want any. Not after both of our fathers…" He lets the sentence hang there. Gil knows what he means. "It was never in his plan."

"He still deserves to know."

"I don't want the baby to be the reason Vijay stays. I don't want him to feel trapped. Believe me. It's better if I don't tell him."

"If you are sure that is really what you want. I can't stop you. I think it's a terrible idea."

"Duly noted," Malcolm replies.

There is a brief pause, and Gil's eyes shift to look at something out of the frame. His eyes begin to water. "Jackie always wanted kids," he says softly. "Just wasn't in the cards."

"Can I ask you a question?" Without waiting for Gil to respond Malcolm plows through and asks in all seriousness. "Would you be the godparent? I've been thinking about it since I found out that I was pregnant. You're the only person that I'd ever trust with my baby if something happens to me. You've practically been my father. You're the best— Gil?" 

The man sniffles and wipes a stray tear from his eye. He's looking at something out of the frame again, staring at it intently. He clears his throat. "Okay. Okay. I'll do it. Nothing is going to happen to you," he teases though there is the underlying _you-better-not_ in his voice. "But it'll be an honor."

"Thank you." Malcolm's thoughts turn sour. "What am I going to do? How am I going to be a parent when I have trouble taking care of myself? I don't even have a heart…" He has to grab his hand because it starts to tremble, because of course the tremor is coming back now.

"Hey, none of that. You'll be a great parent, Bright. I know you will. You're dedicated and kind-hearted. It'll all be okay. You'll do what you need to, and I'll be there for you every step of the way."

His mother takes the news as well as he had expected. She's over the moon that'll she'll have a grand baby to spoil, but is fucking furious when she assumes that Vijay left knowing about the baby, and then directs her anger towards Malcolm when he tells her that his plan is not to inform Vijay. They spar over the phone, because Malcolm hadn't wanted to do a video call with her like he had with Gil. By the end of the call, his mother has calmed down and is smiling if the lift of her tone is anything to guess by. They end the call on a positive note.

Telling work comes easy. Since he isn't very close to any of his co-workers there isn't a need to say anything to them.. He informs his superiors, and they work out a plan to lessen his workload and time in the field, and work out some of the specifics of his maternity leave. 

Ainsley is not thrilled since she has never been a fan of Vijay. She is silent on the other end of the phone for so long that Malcolm checks if the call has been dropped. 

"How far along are you?" She sounds tired, worn down. Malcolm wonders if she is stretching herself too thin once again. Ainsley is very career focused, and sometimes lets her drive get in the way of her real life.

"Ten weeks. I'm due in late November." 

"Do you have a good doctor?"

"Sort of… I mean I saw _a_ doctor. They confirmed the at home test and gave me a general rundown of do's and don'ts and what to expect."

"Are you high risk?"

Malcolm pauses what he is doing— putting away the few groceries he bought from the corner market close to his apartment. "Yeah… because of my medications… and you know… because of my heart." 

"Is there going to be any issues because of your heart?"

"Maybe, they're not sure. But it's something they want to keep an eye on."

"You have to stop eating only Twizzlers."

"I know. I have an appointment with a dietician next week."

"You know you're going to need to get a bigger place."

"Yeah, I know Ains. I'm already on it. I'm moving to a different unit in the same building," he explains. "I should be moved into it in about two months." In the corner of the room Sunshine chirps and with a flutter of wings, flies over.

"Are you happy with all of this? Being pregnant, I mean."

"I don't know," Malcolm answers honestly. "Are you happy for me?"

Immediately, Malcolm can tell that his sister's mood has changed. He knows her well enough to know she is smiling. "Bro, I'm going to be an aunt. Of course I am happy. You know I'm going to spoil my nibling rotten, right?"

Malcolm laughs, "Nibling?" He hears Ainsley speaking on the other end of the line, but he doesn't comprehend the words because of all of the laughter.

* * *

_The appointment is taking longer than I thought. I'll be coming in later than expected._

Almost Immediately after he sends the text, his phone vibrates with a reply.

_Keep me updated._

At least it's not scolding, though he's certain that when he gets into work that there will be a scolding from his boss about taking longer than he said. 

It's been forty minutes since they started the ultrasound. Forty minutes in a dimly lit and freezing room with his dress shirt unbuttoned all the way and put to his sides as the third nurse that has been brought in pushes roughly on his belly with the transducer attempting over and over again to force the baby to get in the correct position they need to do the measurements and vitals needed. 

"My nibling is so stubborn,"Ainsley states matter of fact for the fifth time. "They're taking after you already."

Malcolm can't argue with her; he's been thinking the exact same thing. This happens at every ultrasound appointment. The baby will not cooperate and it takes several minutes for the nurse to help it get in the position needed. This is definitely the longest wait out of all the scans however. 

The first nurse, a very thin woman with purple hair tied back into a tight bun and a tattoo of a parrot that he guesses is flash, lets out a loud frustrated sigh and shoos away the other nurse. "Your baby is a little trouble maker. Let's wait fifteen minutes and then try again." Without another word she leaves them alone in the room. 

He looks over to his sister sitting at the lonely chair next to him, tapping away on his phone playing Candy Crush. Ainsley took a week off work to be with him for this particular ultrasound. 

He needs to ask Ainsley this— it's been on his mind for far too long. He's kept quiet about it— afraid of what the answer might be. Ainsley could answer him objectively compared to mother or Gil.

"Ains?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Never stopped you before."

Malcolm's upper lip curls into a smile. "It's important."

She stops her rapid fire texting to look up at him— her eyebrows knitted together, not saying a word— just waiting for him to speak.

"Do you think I'm going to turn out like dad?"

"What the fuck? No, Malcolm, no." She scoots her chair so she's butt up against the medical table he is laying on, and takes hold of one of his hands. "Malcolm, look at me." He does. "I don't remember much about dad. I won't pretend I do. But, _you are not our father._ I _know_ you _know_ that. You're not anything like him."

 _But I am,_ his mind supplies.

"But…" Malcolm looks away— "I'm going to be such a bad parent. I'm barely a good person. I have so many mental health issues, _I don't even have a heart,"_ he chokes out. 

His sister places her palm against his cheek, forcing him to look at her once more. "Being a lacana has _nothing_ to do with who you are. You're more than just a man with a clockwork heart. You're intelligent and caring and want to help people. You know why you aren't going to be a bad parent? Because you know what it is like to have a bad one. I'm pretty sure that you wouldn't want my nibling to experience what you went though. That's why you'll be a good parent, Malcolm. You'll care, and that's more than enough.

"Thanks Ains," he says and truly means it.

A short knock followed by the click of the lever going down and the nurse strides back into the room. "Okay. Let's try again."

After a few minutes of poking around she finally exclaims: "Ah-ha! There we go. Your little one decided to behave. I'm going to take a few measurements."

Malcolm and his sister stare up at the screen hanging from the ceiling that displays the ultrasound image. A few minutes pass filled with keys clacking and sharp clicks of a mouse.

"Looks like…" She digs into Malcolm's stomach a little deeper."I can tell you the sex. Do you want to know?"

Malcolm's brain seems to fry. This is such an important milestone. He's thought about it a lot and he wants to know the gender as soon as possible. Now it's real— this is the moment. 

"Yes," he answers firmly and clearly.

"You are having…" the nurse pauses for effect. "A girl."

His brain explodes. _A girl._ Imagines flash through his mind. A daughter. A little girl. A daughter that he will teach to not take shit from anyone and step up for what she believes in.

He's having a girl.

* * *

His mother is the one who wants to be traditional and have a baby shower.

"Mother," he says over the telephone. "I don't _need_ a baby shower." He gestures with his hands like he's trying to explain something very simple to a small child.

"Oh darling, everyone needs a baby shower."

"Well, I'm in the minority of everyone. Really I don't need a baby shower. I set up an Amazon wish list. If someone wants to buy something they can do it there and it will be shipped to my apartment."

"Indulge me, Malcolm," his mother uses her sweet talk voice. "It's my first grandchild."

Malcolm rolls his eyes, adjusting the phone to hold it between his ear and shoulder as he sits down to his desk. He does a quick search and adds a sloth blanket toy to the baby registry. He has been trying his best to add things when he thinks of them, otherwise they will go out of his head. _Baby brain._ It sounds like a load of crap to him, but he has to admit that he has been absent-minded these last few months.

"Malcolm, please. It would mean so much to me if there was a baby shower."

He doesn't want to fight it anymore. "Fine, but nothing grand. I don't need to have a baby shower at Eleven Madison Park. And something small, too. Just you, Ainsley, Gil… and maybe a couple others. But that's it."

As mother rambles off about her plans, because of course she's already been planning, Malcolm adds diaper boxes and baby wipes to the registry. 

As agreed there's a small baby shower at his mother's. It's intimate even though it's not what he would have chosen if he had wanted to have input. _Everything_ is decorated in pink. Pink balloons, pink guest book paired with a pink pen with pink ink, pink table runner, pink frosted cookies and cake. It makes Malcolm never want to see the color pink ever again. 

There's a baby shower at the office. Roughly thirty of his coworkers come to give him gifts that he'll open when he gets home. Malcolm knows that they are really here for the free food, but it is hard to say no to pizza from TImber Pizza and assorted cupcakes from Baked and Wired. Everyone drifts in and out of the conference room— usually staying a few minutes before heading back to work. Just about everyone asks questions— when's the due date— November 18, is it a boy or a girl— girl, does he have any weird cravings— no, and the one he dreads— who's the father? Malcolm gives everyone fake smiles that hurt his cheeks as he simply answers that it is none of their business, but thank you for coming to the party. 

Of course, Malcolm can't help but wonder how it would have been if Vijay was here. It isn't too common though that the other partner will attend the work baby shower. 

_He wouldn't want to be here,_ he reminds himself. _Vijay never wanted children._

Malcolm eats two more cupcakes before excusing himself and heads back to his cubicle. He orders an Uber XL, calling the driver to make sure it would be alright to bring a horde of gifts along for the ride. Malcolm is surprised that Swanson volunteers to help him load all of the presents into the car, and unload them and carry them up to his apartment.

He spends the rest of his half day working setting the apartment so it's more obvious that a baby will live there— bassinet beside his bed, the tiniest clothes hung up in a closet, affixing ballerina decor to the walls in the nursery (purples and blues, _no pink_ ), and a glider in the living room. 

At the end of the day, he pulls out his yoga mat and goes through his nightly routine, followed by mediation. It's in the silence that he hears the familiar _tick tock tick tock tick tock_.

* * *

"Come back to New York," Mother pleads. "Just for the birth."

"I can't. You _know_ that I can't." Malcolm's skin crawls at the thought of being back in the same city where Dr. Whitly resided. Malcolm ran away from that man eight years ago and no way in hell will he come back. "Come to D.C. instead?" he asks. "I don't want to do this alone."

His mother agrees, and when Malcolm asks Gil the same question, he doesn't need to get through the whole sentence before Gil answers yes. He'll use the vacation days that he's been needing to take for ages. He'll be available when the time comes.

Like the pregnancy, the labor and birth comes easy, or so the nurses say. The entire thing lasts five hours, but at the end all of the pain is worth it when he hears a cry of a newborn, and gasps and lets out a sob of his own when his crying daughter is placed on his chest, over his heart. Everything goes by in a blur. His brain is only able to focus on his daughter, only a few minutes old. He watches as the nurses take her off of his chest to clean, weigh, measure, and ink her hands and feet. Through the whole process she's screaming at the top of her lungs and flailing— angry at being terribly cold and assaulted by bright light. She's given back to him wearing a pink, white, and blue striped hat and bundled in a matching blanket, gently resting on his chest once again. The doctors mess with him in the meantime, springing into action to take his vitals, clean up, ask him a few questions that should be basic but it takes his brain a few seconds to catch up. The stitches are painful, but none of that matters. 

Here's his daughter. Alive. Well. She's calmed down now that she's snuggled within the blankets. Her breathing is even and perfect. Malcolm reaches and presses his palm over her chest, over the blanket that warms her small body. A brief second passes before he feels a _thump-thump._ Malcolm sobs— his cheeks start to hurt and he realizes he's smiling. 

* * *

Malcolm knows her features will change over time, but there's so much of Vijay there. She has his black hair— sparse as it is. Her eyes are bright blue, and Malcolm hopes that they stay that color. Blue is such a lovely shade. Her skin tone is lighter than Vijay's— a mix of the two of them together, Malcolm supposes. Little things like her facial structure, her nose, the space between the nose and the lips, her long fingers— it's all Vijay. 

God he wishes Vijay was here for this.

He's so engrossed in his daughter that the loud shutter click of a camera takes him by surprise. Malcolm raises his head and sees his mother standing a foot away from the bed, holding her cell phone horizontally. 

" _Mother,_ " he says with a faux scolding to his voice. Really he's grateful. His mother had been the one who helped him calm down during the labor, drove him to the hospital— screeching tires and rude gestures, and she was here in the delivery room when her granddaughter was born. 

Malcolm will never forget this.

"Oh Malcolm," his mother wipes a tear away from her cheek. "I'm so proud of you."

Time flies once again as he holds his daughter close as his mother takes a number of pictures— Malcolm and his daughter, just Malcolm, just his baby, and selfies of her and her granddaughter, and of the three of them together. He's pretty sure that she's sending pictures to everyone she knows.

They video chat with Ainsley, who grew teary eyed even though she was in public. His sister promises she'll leave tonight to meet her niece. 

Gil ends the call after a couple minutes to rush out the door of his house and get into LeMans to make the four and a half hour drive to D.C. 

Malcolm is in his room that overlooks more of the hospital and has no sign of the rest of the city. There's a peak of sunshine out of the side of one of the towers but that's all. The TV is on mute with captions popping up along the bottom of the screen. It's set to CNBC with a marathon of American Greed. 

Directly across from him on the opposite wall is an oversized white board for the nurses to check and update throughout the day. It lists who is the nurse on duty, Malcolm's preferred name, lists that he has night terrors, difficulty eating, all of his medications, that he's a possible jumper since he _has_ done it in the past. There's a nurse outside of his room to make sure that doesn't happen, but everyone is fairly certain that it won't. The chart states that he's a lacana. Malcolm feels so exposed and naked at the word scrawled in neat girly handwriting. Malcolm knows it's necessary, but seeing his secret displayed for anyone to see is distressing.

His daughter is in his arms, her tiny ear against his heart. The _tick tock_ doesn't seem to bother her in the slightest. Ever so often she manages to wiggle a hand out of the swaddle and curls her fingers around one of his. Malcolm very quickly finds out that if she's not being held she cries until she is snuggled against someone.

Gil comes just as he's pushing the tray of food away from him. He ate a small dinner of lemon Jell-O, honey grahams, and broth that took him over two hours to finish. 

"What's her name, kid?" Gil asks fondly.

Malcolm takes his eyes off of his daughter, to look at Gil. He makes a point to wait until Gil's gaze is on him, and not on the baby. "I was going to name her Jackie."

Gil chokes out a sob. "Kid, you don't have to do that."

"I want to," Malcolm asserts. He kisses the top of his daughter's head. "I want to honor her. Jackie Bright sounds like a good name to me."

"It's beautiful; just like her." Gil's lower lip wobbles, he sniffles and wipes a stray tear running down his cheek. He holds out a finger, and chuckles when the baby girl grasps it when her entire hand. "Hello, Jackie."

When it's time to fill out the name on the birth certificate, he gives them Jackie Asvarya Bright.

* * *

His daughter's little fingers move through the recently mowed grass. She's staring at it intently as though all of her brain power is being used up on studying this new thing. 

Malcolm packs up the remaining items that are out on the blanket— a teether, the portable diaper mat, and a couple simple toys that Jackie never bothered to touch because the grass was far more interesting. He still feels a bit proud of himself for thinking of heading to Meridian Hill Park for a little picnic and stroll. Jackie had no interest in the cascading fountain no matter how much he tried to get her to notice. Instead Jackie was content in staying in his arms and observing all of the people around them— her head swiveling from side to side until she picked out a target and gave them a hard stare.

By the time he's ready to go Jackie has fallen asleep on her tummy with her pacifier in her mouth. He's able to ease her into the stroller without waking her up, and goes on a brief walk through the park. Malcolm stops several times as a few women peer over and catch the sight of a sleeping baby and compliment on how cute his daughter looks.

When Malcolm reaches the statue of Joan of Arc he stops to check his phone. One of his co-workers sent him a text that the meeting on Monday morning to make sure everyone is on the same page with the current case has been postponed until Wednesday afternoon. He types out a quick reply thanking his co-worker for letting him know.

Out of habit he checks the thread between him and Vijay. As he rocks and stroller back and forth his thumb scrolls up and down the screen. Vijay hasn't answered his texts in months. Perhaps it's time to realize that his ex doesn't want to continue their friendship. _If_ Malcolm had a heart he thinks it would have broken into pieces. 

A yawn and the rustle of fabric alerts Malcolm that his baby is waking up. He pockets his cell and continues on with their walk and soon enough Jackie is napping once more.

* * *

Malcolm adjusts the coned hat on top of Jackie's head that has a simple number one on it, for the fourth time. Before she could mess with the elastic string again, he quickly angles his phone above the three of them and snaps several pictures in a row. 

"Got anything decent?" asks GIl bouncing the one year old on his knee. 

"Maybe," he replies lazily as he scrolls through his camera roll to try to find one that doesn't show any of them in the middle of an expression, or super blurry, or blinking. It's a lot to ask for. Ideally he wants a shot with him, Gil and Jackie that shows off her hat and that you can see the tiny birthday smash cake that Gil made in the frame. The second to last photo seems suitable enough. Everyone is in focus surprisingly, the only thing that doesn't make it perfect is that half of the cake didn't make the cut and that a sliver of Malcolm's thumb is at the bottom corner.

"Hi!"

Malcolm fondly smiles and faces his daughter. "Hi!" he replies.

Jackie turns her head to look at Gil. "Hi!"

"Hi!"

Jackie responds with a series of nonsensical babbles, then leans over the table and plants her face in the cake, coming up a moment later covered in the blueberry yogurt frosting with some of the top cake layer stuck to her nose. She smacks her lips together—feeling the texture of the icing and licking it off her fingers. After a few moments, Jackie repeats the action. This time Malcolm is pretty sure that any photo he gets of this will turn out awful, but it's worth it to capture the moment.

* * *

Jackie is inconsolable. Nothing that Malcolm does is calming her down. His daughter's face has turned red, big fat tears are streaming down her cheeks. She's clinging to him for dear life and hiding her face into his shirt— up against his heart. Malcolm has rocked her, carried her around the lobby of Reagan with one arm wrapped around her waist to keep her upright on his side while the other arm drags around her Minnie Mouse rolling suitcase behind them, sung Baby Shark, recited her favorite nursery rhymes, took her outside for fresh air, offered her favorite snack only for it to be refused and batted away and flung about five feet from where they sat which made Jackie sob more,, gave her her favorite toy for comfort— and nothing at all worked. Malcolm knows what is wrong which doesn't make it any better since he can't fix the situation. He's going away to Tennessee on an assignment to capture a serial killer— meaning that Jackie will be looked after by grandma. His mother decided to have a special girls only vacation/early birthday present to Jackie and fly to St Thomas for a week and a half. Ainsley is going too, but she'll be leaving in two days to meet up with them on the island.

A disproportionate amount of Jackie's talk has been in regard to the trip: "Beach!", "Brown turtle!", "Airpain!", "Go swimming!", "Thomas!", "Love grandma!", "Love Aunt… Ainswey!", and "I'm a mermaid!". For the past month all she wanted to do was watch The Little Mermaid or Moana, and have the lift-a-flap board book, 'Bluey: The Beach' read to her. Jackie has been wandering around their apartment in her new purple colorful mermaid scales swim shoes with the matching one piece rash guard swimsuit that grandma bought her.

Yet now that her rolling Minnie Mouse luggage is packed and they are at the airport, and grandma texted that she's an hour away, it seems as if the reality of leaving has crashed down on his daughter and here they are with a meltdown in public. 

"Don't want… to. Don't want… to," his daughter repeats over and over between sobs. 

"Sweetheart, everything will be okay." Malcolm rubs circles on her small back. They're camped by a bench near the door. They aren't sitting on the bench because his daughter started screaming the very instant her butt touched the metal slats. Malcolm is on the floor, legs stretched out with Jackie curled against his body. "Everything is okay. You'll be going to the beach with grandma. Isn't that exciting?"

"Don't want to!"

"You don't want to? You've been looking forward to this trip for a long time. You'll have so much fun. When you get back you can tell me all about it, okay?"

Of course that doesn't work. Jackie burrows her head deeper against his chest if that is possible. 

"Oh, Jackie."

Malcolm raises his eyes and sees his mother several feet away from them dressed in an orange and white floral light maxi dress. Her large round sunglasses are perched on top of her head.

"Why are you crying? We're going to the beach."

Jackie lifts her head from his chest and smiles so wide that her dimples show. "Grandma!" Roughly, she untangles herself from Malcolm and quickly runs into his mother's waiting arms.

Malcolm rakes a hand through his hair, messing it up even more than Jackie did, and blows out a puff of air as he watches his mother handle Jackie like an expert— having Jackie point to different objects and say what they are.

Oh thank God.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Comments & kudos are love.
> 
> Join us at the Prodigal Son Trash discord server (18+). [Click here.](https://discord.gg/MyKracR)


	5. CHAPTER FOUR

Malcolm slams the door shut with so much force that the professional portrait photos of his little family and framed scribbles on brightly colored construction paper jump off of the wall. He's glad that Jackie's not home to see his outburst. That would have never boded well on his conscience.

He lets the cardboard box half filled objects from his desk fall to the floor with a thud and clatter of whatever is knocking against each other in there. 

He wants to have a drink— to get drunk, but he _can't._ Malcolm knows that he shouldn't, but the temptation is there. 

His eyes go from the lonely box on the hardwood floor to his liquor cabinet that's locked and out of Jackie's reach. 

Mother won't come back with Jackie from their trip to Saint Thomas for three more days…

He kicks the box aside as he passes it, unlocks the cabinet and pours himself a glass of bourbon. 

Fired. He's been fired from the FBI— from a job he has worked his ass off to get. Malcolm has made sacrifices to get where he is now. Where do you go once you get fired from the FBI? 

They had been looking for an excuse— that much was clear by the subtext under their careful words. Had he lost his temper when he punched the sheriff? Yes. Was that really something to get fired over? He had expected something like getting a reprimand, time off from the field, forced to desk work, hell even a denomination. Not fired.

The words keep swirling around in his mind: 

_"We have a sign-off from DOJ. You're fired."_

_"What? Wait, I found Claude Springer. I-I saved those people!"_

_"I'm sorry, Bright. We're afraid you might suffer from certain psychotic inclinations, not unlike your father's. Your complex PTSD, the narcissistic tendencies. I mean, you ran into that slaughterhouse with zero regard for your own safety… Let's not even get started on the lacana aspect of all of this. Frankly, it explains a great deal."_

He knocks back the rest of the bourbon, grimacing and making a disgusted face after he does so. Then he pours himself another full glass. 

Malcolm knew that there was a possibility that the FBI would use his status against him. Even though he is their best profiler, an employer can always find an excuse to get rid of someone. 

He takes a large sip of his drink. He's drinking this way too fast, but if there is any reason to get drunk getting fired from your dream job as a pretty damn good one.

He thinks of texting Gil or Ainsley to let someone know what has happened— to help get out some of his anger and sorrow and to have validation that the situation sucked to say the least. But he decides against all of that. He's going to drown in his own sorrows for the night, and work on picking up the pieces in the morning.

As he lays in his bed, head beautifully swimming and not filled with bad thoughts, he places his palm over his left breast.

_Tick._

_Tock._

_Tick._

_Tock._

_Tick._

_Tock._

* * *

His mother is ecstatic to have him back to live in the city indefinitely, and to finally be so close to her granddaughter. The car ride from her house to their apartment takes thirty minutes which is much preferable than an hour and a half flight.

Jackie is excited too. It's a new place that she hasn't explored and that really enough on its own. However what she babbles on about everyday is how she'll get to see grandma, aunt Ainsley, and uncle Gil everyday. Of course she doesn't say it like that. Usually she'll make a high pitched squeak followed by _ab-do-ab-do-eeee see grandma_. Malcolm is impressed that she's saying very short sentences now, and that babbling is becoming a pattern with certain words or phrases.

Their little family arrives in Nolita a little after nine in the morning. Jackie is less than pleased. To be here on time to meet his mother, Malcolm had to adjust his daughter's schedule— so he woke her up two hours before her usual time. Ever since she's been a mess between dramatically flailing herself onto furniture and looking straight at him to get attention to throwing her breakfast on the clean floor to simply ignore his existence. Her mood made the four hour drive from his apartment in D.C. to their new one in Manhattan complete hell. It didn't help that Jackie kept calling Adolpho ' _Ah-fray-doh_ '.

A grand tour is given by his mother with a flair that focuses on the designers and the most popular trends of how homes are arranged. All Malcolm needs to know is where Jackie's room, his room, all the bathrooms, and where Sunshine's cage is located. His mother stays with them for the rest of the day— helping setting things up for Malcolm, and after Jackie woke up in a much better mood, she concentrated all of her attention on her granddaughter. 

On his second day back, him, Ainsley, and Jackie take a stroll through Central Park. Ainsley enjoys pushing the stroller as they walk. Jackie points out colors, trees, and hats throughout the walk. 

"They fired you because of _dad?"_ Ainsley says in astonishment.

"Among other things. The FBI wasn't too thrilled about one of their agents assaulting a sheriff, no matter how much they deserved it. Malcolm grinds his teeth before he continues. "Besides it's not like it's considered anti discrimination to fire me over something I can't change inside of me."

"Jesus Christ." His sister halts. "Are you kidding me? No, don't answer that. They really used that against you? Fudging a-holes. I'm sorry you had to go through that."

Malcolm shrugs, not wanting to answer verbally. It's not alright that one of the reasons he was let go was because there's not a real heart beating inside of his body. The law says nothing about discriminating against lacanas, which made what the FBI did perfectly legal.

Ainsley's phone buzzes and after fishing it out of her purse and taking a look, she bids them farewell. 

Before Malcolm can even start to push the stroller Jackie looks up at him with puppy dog eyes and her arms outstretched into the air. "Uppy!"

Malcolm smiles down at her, bends down at the middle, sweeping his daughter into the air and awkwardly carries her while guiding the stroller along so they don't run over someone's toes or hit anything.

"Hey there, city boy," a smooth and familiar voice calls out. 

Malcolm whirs around, much to Jackie's delight with a fit of giggles. Gil is there standing on the side of the curb next to the Le Mans, wearing a dark turtleneck sweater, tan waistcoat, and a pair of aviator sunglasses. 

"It's Un-cle Gil!" she cries, and fidgets in Malcolm's arms— wanting to get down to rush to GIl even though she had just begged to be in his arms. 

"Hold on, Jackie." He adjusts and readjusts his hold on his daughter. "I can't—"

Then GIl is by his side— the smell of his aftershave is not overpowering, but it always brings back a sense of home that he has associated with the scent for most of his life. "Jackie, are you giving your daddy trouble?" GIl and Malcolm make a quick trade and in a few moments Jackie is hooked onto his side. 

"It's Un-cle Gil!" she repeats again. "See-tee boy! Hi see-tee boy!" She touches his goatee, enjoying feeling a new texture.

Gil takes her tiny hand and runs it along his chin and hums, causing Jackie to burst out into giggles. He hikes her up further on his side and addresses Malcolm. "You know it's rude not to tell your friends when you're in town."

"I have friends?"

Gil chuckles and moves forward and gives Malcolm a one armed hug, then squeezing the back of his neck. "How are you doing?"

Malcolm waves his hand like he's tipping a scale. "You know… Getting us used to being in the city. It's different for _both_ of us. There's so many things I need to do to set up. Trying to put my life back together and failing spectacularly."

"I actually might have a case that might interest you."

"You know I'm not FBI anymore."

"Good thing I'm NYPD. Have you eaten anything besides Twizzlers today?"

Malcolm half frowns. "No," he admits, but adds, "She's had breakfast though."

"How about I treat you two to lunch?"

"Lunch!" Jackie exclaims excitedly. "Lunch!"

"I suppose that's a yes. Where'd you have in mind?"

"I think I have an idea. They have simple and easy foods. Sandwiches and soups. There's mac and cheese on the kids menu."

Jackie breaks out into a huge smile. "Mac and… cheese! Mac… and cheese! Mac and cheese!"

Malcolm thinks: _Well that definitely settles it. One of Jackie's favorite foods is macaroni and cheese and Gil knows that._

"How close is it?" Malcolm asks over Jackie's repeating words. "Can we walk there?"

"Not quite. We can take the Le Mans."

"Did you forget that Jackie needs—"

Gil interrupts, "A car seat. Come over here." He cocks his head gesturing to his car. Malcolm grabs the stroller and follows Gil and Jackie. His friend opens the back driver's side door and right there is a car seat— all ready to go. There's even Jackie's favorite stuffed animal waiting for her that Gil must have bought.

"Gil, you didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to. Come on city boy. Let's get some food in you. I'll give you the case file to look at while we're there. We can use code words so she doesn't pick up on certain ones."

Gil gets Jackie set up in the car seat while Malcolm folds up the hauls the stroller in the truck of the Le Mans. On the drive Jackie recites the alphabet as best she can, tells both of them good morning, and says mac and cheese over and over. 

* * *

Something that's a plus for not working a job that requires him to travel out of state every so often is that he gets to spend more time with Jackie. He's not full time with the NYPD, only a consultant when they find themselves in a bind. Nearly everyday it's been him and his little girl (and Sunshine of course). It's been nice. Days are spent going to different playgrounds, making messes with arts and crafts, and visiting the closest library for toddler story time. Malcolm knows that it won't last forever— only until he finds a good daycare to enroll her in. 

* * *

For some insane reason it's after they arrest Issac Parker that JT and Dani confront him. Both of them stand over him as he broods at a table— trying to take in all that happened over the course of the last few days. Malcolm wants nothing more than to cradle Jackie against his chest as they do something mundane like read her 'Room on the Broom' over and over again, or have a simple and easy dinner of peanut butter sandwiches, or play peek-a-boo until she tires of it. 

"You have a daughter." He knows one of them said it, not a question but a fact. However he doesn't pay attention to who was the one to speak.

"Yes, but you already knew that." Dani had found out when he accidentally got high. Thankfully, Jackie was at a birthday party sleepover at one of her friends from daycare. He curls his trembling fingers into a fist and slowly turns his head to face them. "Is that going to cause any problems?" It wouldn't be the first time where someone questioned his ability to parent based on his mental health… and because he's a lacana.

On cue both detectives look at him in disbelief and with a clear _what the fuck._ "What?" they both say one after the other.

They are confused why he'd ever think that. All they want to know is why he never mentioned having a daughter in the first place. JT is called away by another detective and tells them he'll catch them later.

"What's her name?" Dani asks, sitting down across from him.

Malcolm smiles softly. "Jackie."

"Like Gil's wife?"

He hums and nods to her. "She was like a second mom to me. It seemed right."

Dani fires off a series of questions from how old is Jackie to what sorts of food she dislikes. It warms Malcolm's heart a little, to know that Dani cares. After several minutes Malcolm checks his watch and curses. "I have to update Gil." He stands and excuses himself. The conversation he's about to have will be a hard one. Malcolm notices the odd look Dani gives him before turning to go.

* * *

"Our family is being slaughtered," Martin says in his easy going voice. He's upside down to Malcolm as he's standing far away from his head.

Malcolm does his best to twist his aching body to sit up— his father maybe a hallucination, but he doesn't want to appear weak before him.

"Our family."

Malcolm blinks and his eyes widen. "Vijay?"

His ex is now where his father was only a second before. Vijay is dressed impeccably— everything from his hair style to the way his silk tie is knotted is exactly how he last saw VIjay. The only thing different is that his expression carries no charm, no friendliness. It's grim— serious— so unlike Vijay.

"Our family," the hallucination repeats.

"Family? You don't even know that our daughter exists."

"And whose fault is that?"

* * *

There's nothing good on TV. He's flipped through all of the channels three times and nothing strikes his interest. A nurse came along with dinner about an hour ago. The food was okay— but the orange Jell-O grates at his nerves. He moves the styrofoam cup to the farthest cover of the sliding tray so he won't see the offending color.

That's when he hears it. A loud high-pitched scream that lasts for several seconds, followed by a gasp, until the scream continues. Over the past two years his ears have been trained to recognize who it belongs to.

Jackie.

There's a muffled knock on the concrete but it's barely heard over the cries of his daughter. A couple seconds later his mother rounds the corner. She looks exhausted— large bags under her eyes and there's a prominent slouch. In her arms is Jackie with tears streaming down her cheeks. Once his daughter catches sight of him her screaming stops, but the stage where she whines has begun. Jackie raises her arms in the air— reaching out towards him— her fit not stopping. She's kicking her grandma in an attempt to escape her clutches. Mother doesn't try to fight anymore and as gently as she can puts Jackie against Malcolm's side. Jackie starts hiccuping as she tucks herself against Malcolm's side. Malcolm rests his cheek against his daughter's dark hair and reassurances that he's here, he's here, he's here, he's okay. Her tiny fingers grasp hold of his hospital issued gown for dear life, right over his heart where she's able to feel the vibration of the ticking, but after a few minutes she calms down, her breathing evens out and she falls fast asleep.

"She's been inconsolable since you were kidnapped," his mother whispers, sitting down in the oversized green chair to the left of the bed. "Of course she didn't know you'd be kidnapped. All she knew was that you were gone, and could see how worried all of us were. She's only two but she picks up a lot."

"She's a smart one." He kisses the top of her head, then rests his cheek. "Where's she been this whole time?"

Mother sighs. "She's been with me. I know that Gil is her godparent, but he was busy getting you back."

"Was she at the house?" Malcolm's voice shakes. God if Jackie had been in the house with Watkins there… "Mother, if she was there—"

"She wasn't. I swear. Malcolm, calm down." Mother waits a few beats before continuing. "Jackie was with your friend's wife… Tally? Gil assured me that she was trustworthy and loves kids. I dropped her off earlier in the day." His mother reaches over and brushes a stray hair out of his eyes. "Sleep, baby. I'll be here when you wake up."

Malcolm nods, pulls his daughter closer and lets his mind drift off to sleep. 

* * *

Malcolm has never been one for the beach… or vacations in general. If it was up to him, he'd spend the entire time in his over-water bungalow with the shades down, reading criminal psychology books that have been on his shelf gathering dust.

His daughter, on the other hand, thrives in the sun and on beaches in particular. The only reason he begrudgingly agreed to this vacation is because of her. Jackie turned two back in November so she'll never remember any of this. Malcolm is finding that it's still worth all of his discomfort.

The French Polynesian island they're calling home for two weeks is stunning, and he's never been one to appreciate nature. He's only seen water this clear in photos and videos. There is the feeling of isolation when there isn't any sign of land from the island. The clear ocean keeps going on and on. There are plenty of plants so Jackie is having fun pointing at all of them by color, shape, and refers to them by similar plants she's already aware of. They're forced to have all their meals with the other vacationers on the island— which Malcolm isn't that much of a fan. He's proven wrong again because Jackie loves being around all the people— jumping from table to table to talk to everyone— roping them into games. At first he tries to reign his daughter in, but realized that there was no point unless she misbehaved. She reminds him more of Vijay with each passing day— she certainly inherited his charm.

Jackie makes a fuss when he slathers her in sunscreen every few hours. Days are spent making sandcastles, searching for the perfect seashells, and wading in the shallow part of the beautiful warm water. 

Malcolm refuses to not read during the vacation. During nap time, Malcolm sits out on the deck under the shade of the extension of the roof and flips through the pages of books. Of course he brought along books for Jackie as well. A few beach themed books: Spot at the Beach and Mister Seahorse, along with some of her usual favorites: The Crayons Book of Numbers and First 100 Words.

On the second to last night before they leave this little paradise, they're snuggled in Jackie's bed taking turns reading Frida Catlo. It's an all around favorite in their family household.

"Daddy okay?" Jackie asks after a long yawn. 

His body tenses up. Neither of them have brought up what happened back at Christmas when he'd been kidnapped. Jackie had no idea what actually happened— she's too young to understand it anyway. She does know that he was away and that he had been hurt. It's been weeks but he's still trying to assure her that he's fine.

_"You stabbed me, and left me for dead." Watkins' raspy voice becomes more dangerous with every word— it's clear that even with the cool tone that the serial killer isn't about to explode. "You practically tried to rip the heart out of me."_

_Without any sort of warning The Junkyard Killer uses the hand not holding the blade and reaches inside of Malcolm's chest— wrapping his dirty fingers around his heart._

_Watkins jerks his heart out of his body, studying it with curiosity— turning it this way and that way— admiring the craftsmanship._

_Malcolm is heaving and trying his best to hold back a scream. He claws at his chest the best as he can as he's still cuffed. The searing pain is almost on the same pain scale as his father removing his heart when he was a boy. Malcolm has never taken out the heart he made for himself— and it hurts so fucking bad. A machine has been violently snatched without any care._

_Watkins carelessly tosses his clockwork heart across the basement floor, laughing hysterically. "Fuck, I never thought you were a lacana… So inhuman. So pathetic," he spits so much that it flies out towards Malcolm. "And you're trying to profile me about my issues." Watkins looks him up and down, smiling. "I guess this shouldn't hurt then."_

_That's when Watkins stabs him, twists the blade, and leaves him there on the floor to die._

"Daddy okay?" her tiny voice rings through the air and brings him out of his memories.

Malcolm smooths back her dark hair out of her eyes. "Yeah sweetheart," he rubs the bridge of her nose— a trick to get her to sleep from when she was a newborn that still works. "Daddy's okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Comments & kudos are love.
> 
> Join us at the Prodigal Son Trash discord server (18+). [Click here.](https://discord.gg/MyKracR)


	6. CHAPTER FIVE

"I'm going to have to dry-clean this," the man says as Malcolm rounds the corner, speeding faster in case the man will turn to leave, and Malcolm will never see him again.

"Vijay?"

His ex-boyfriend stills for a moment, slowly raising his head and staring at him like he's seen a ghost. "Bright? What are you doing here?" He carelessly puts his briefcase on the floor. "How the hell are you? It's been forever." Vijay bites his lower lip, and like all those years ago, his gaze takes in Malcolm. 

"I'm here with Major Crimes." He gestures vaguely in the direction where the team are standing and rubbernecking at the sigh before them. "I'm a special consultant." Malcolm can't help but say it with pride. It's not the FBI, but he's enjoyed his job with the NYPD more than all of his years working for the Bureau. It's the family he's always wanted, but could never have.

If Vijay questions this, he doesn't voice it. "Nice! I left the treasury about a year and a half ago. I'm with Braun Underwriters now… Who insure this place." The last few words are almost said under his breath. A couple seconds pass before Vijay exclaims, "Wait does that mean we're working the same case?"

"Looks like we are." Malcolm cannot help but smile. Vijay always has this effect on him.

"Murder isn't my thing, but you know that. I'm here for the twenty mil in watches. That's the job."

"You get the watches back, insurance company doesn't have to pay."

Cheesy as always, Vijay shoots him with a finger gun, mimes blowing off smoke from the barrel, and to Malcolm's surprise, reaches out and walks his fingers his dark wool coat and tugs on the collar of the coat. "It's so good to see you, Bright. The two of us working together…" His eyes and face are full of excitement. A bit awkwardly, Vijay places his hands on Malcolm's shoulders, seeming to restrain himself from doing more. "I'm—" He frowns, dropping his hands, then gestures with his head that someone is behind Malcolm.

It's Dani. 

Vijay picks up his briefcase and leaves.

"He seems great," she states with fake sincerity.

Malcolm's voice raises a pitch for a second. "He is." He goes on to explain how he and Vijay were loners and best friends in high school. "We reconnected a few years ago, actually. I haven't seen him in a while."

Dani gives him an accusing look, her eyebrow raised. She wants to know if he's Jackie's father. It doesn't take a detective to see how similar they look.

"Yes." Malcom confesses, "He doesn't know."

* * *

It's bizarre how well they work well together. They've always clicked. To see how that transitions to solving a crime is fascinating, and oddly comforting.

There's so many times when Malcolm has wanted to blurt out, "You're a father", or "You stole my heart and I built myself a clockwork one," or "I think you are the love of my life, and it's okay that you don't feel the same," but doesn't. 

It does hurt that Malcolm has to tell Gil that he doesn't know if they can trust Vijay.

"You need to tell him about Jackie, Bright." 

"I know."

* * *

"Hold on! Hold on!" Vijay protests, making himself steady after being shoved. "I can't leave without him."

"You're in no position to negotiate." 

"He's my boyfriend." A faint hint of color rising from his neck to his cheeks. 

"Boyfriend?" Malcolm scoffs. "That's a _joke,_ Vijay. Don't, okay? I know what happens next. You have to leave— I get it. It's what you do." He tries to ignore how hurt Vijay looks by each passing word. "Just like how you walked away _with my heart._ Don't you know how painful it's been being a lacana— being heartless?" 

"You took his _heart?"_ comes a voice from across the room. "Man that's fucked up."

"I can't trust you." He points an accusing finger at his ex. "You're just like your dad. Get in your damn Bentley and _go."_

Malcolm curses as the crew grab Vijay and begin to haul him away. "Wait!" he yells, and the room stills. There's a good chance that Malcolm is going to die tonight. There's a good chance that Vijay will leave and he'll never see him again. He needs to tell Vijay. He needs to let him know before it's too late. 

Malcolm's breathing is erratic because of the adrenaline. He's aware that he must appear to be wild with his disheveled hair, shoulders heaving, eyes locked into Vijay's deep brown ones. The ticking of his heart rings loudly in his ears. 

"You're a father," he pants. "I found out two months after you left me." After you stole my heart, he doesn't say. 

Vijay looks like he's about to collapse onto the floor, and someone has to hold him up. "What?" his voice is soft— no hint of anger or betrayal. 

Malcolm never loses eye contact. "You have a daughter. She's so beautiful, Vijay. If you gave…" Fuck this part is hard to say. He imagined telling Vijay about Jackie— about all of the reactions he could possibly receive. It's this part that could break Malcolm… break his clockwork heart in two. "If you gave her a chance."

"Why—"

"Okay as much as I'm enjoying this episode of Maury, I'd really like to keep this shit rolling. Congratulations on being a dad!" Cooper yells, gesturing for his men to take Vijay back to the parking lot.

"Wait! No!" Vijay struggles against his captors. "Mal—"

"Go!" Malcolm yells. 

Vijay comes back in the most spectacular way by driving his Porsche through the garage door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Comments & kudos are love.
> 
> Join us at the Prodigal Son Trash discord server (18+). [Click here.](https://discord.gg/MyKracR)


	7. CHAPTER SIX

The last few weeks have been a whirlwind despite not being called in to freelance on a case. Malcolm is trying to get used to having Vijay so close by. Of course Vijay, never being one to live in a city, is renting a home in Larchmont year-round. He's only been there for less than a week. 

Vijay met their daughter a few days after the adventure with the heist. Jackie was suspicious at first— not saying a single word, opting instead to stare at the newcomer. Slowly she is opening up to Vijay. It's an adjustment for them all.

* * *

Lying on the plush bed in Malcolm's apartment, legs intertwined, he runs his fingers through Vijay's thick hair. The only lighting in the bedroom is from the faint glow escaping from the sides of the blackout curtains. It gives it all an intimate setting— two men who were lost and who came together to form something beautiful. 

Vijay caresses Malcolm's rough stubble with his thumb. "I'm sorry I never said it back then." He doesn't give Malcolm a moment to ask for clarification. "I'm sorry that I never told you that I love you. It feels like I always have. It's cliche, but I was scared shitless to admit it." Shaking his head he says, " It seems so stupid now that I say it out loud." Vijay runs his thumb along Malcolm's jaw line and up his chin until he hovers over his lips. "I love you, Bright."

"You hurt me," Malcolm blurts out, but his friend needs to know. "Really, really bad."

"I know… and I don't blame you if you never forgive me. There's so many things I could have… _should_ have done instead of moving to the other side of the country and ghosting. For lying to you during the case… So many things."

"I think… it'll take me some time to forgive you. But… I do love you still. After all this time."

"Can I kiss you?" Vijay whispers.

He nods his consent, and unlike their first kiss, they meet in the middle. It's slow, tender. There's no urgency, no need to rush. Vijay pulls away for a brief moment, his lips ghosting in front of his. Malcolm gazes into Vijay's dark eyes— full of love… of hope.

It feels like a new beginning.

"Vijay…" Malcolm gulps, takes a long and deep breath, and asks the question he's wanted an answer to for almost three years. "What did you do with my heart?" His mind conjures up so many scenarios from his heart stuffed in the back of Vijay's closet forgotten like an old pair of shoes, to hidden and lost in a landfill somewhere. All that he does know is that his heart is _somewhere_ out there. 

Untangling himself and sitting up, Vijay patiently waits until Malcolm does the same. Vijay groans as his features contort in pain— a strip of blue hue passes across his face. Several moments later, he grunts, and cradles an object in his hands up to the light.

Malcolm's heart. 

It looks so normal—just an average heart— nothing special about it. But it's his— he knows it is. There it is in Vijay's hands— beating, _alive_. Malcolm thinks his heart looks ethereal. Seeing it again was a dream he'd lost long ago. Yet here it is. 

"Where's yours?" he asks with concern. "What did you do with your heart if you've had mine?"

"It's back at my house— hidden away. I haven't used it since you gifted me yours. I've always kept your heart in me. I've never let it go." Carefully Vijay adjusts the heart so it's easily held in his left hand, and the palm of his right lays flat against his skin where the clockwork heart resides. He doesn't need to say anything. There's a mournful expression that takes over his face. He's thinking of the consequences of what he did all of those years ago. 

Malcolm curls his fingers around his heart. "I think I know where it belongs."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Comments & kudos are love.
> 
> Join us at the Prodigal Son Trash discord server (18+). [Click here.](https://discord.gg/MyKracR)


	8. EPILOGUE

The HOA where the Tarmels live is quiet compared to Manhattan. They reside in a cookie cutter suburban part of Staten Island. No cars honking, no hurried shuffle of feet on the hard concrete, no squeals of tires followed by a great whoosh of air when a bus stopped. Instead Malcolm hears birds singing their sweet songs, an occasional yapping or a fearsome bark of dogs, and rustle of leaves in the wind. It's nice— calming. However Malcolm cannot envision himself living here. A city is where he calls home.

Tonight is trick-or-treating for JT's neighborhood. A sleepover had been planned a few weeks back. They'd do a few Halloween themed arts and crafts, watch G-rated Halloween-esk movies like Monsters, Inc before getting the kids dressed in their costumes.

By two o'clock both toddlers had napped, lunch of pizza had been consumed, and it was now time for the arts and crafts. Everyone except Tally came outside to decorate pumpkins. She opted to get the projector set up to watch the movies.

Vijay is kneeling on the planks of the deck, his medium wash blue jeans and checkered flannel shirt are splattered with red, green, and blue paint. He's assisting their daughter with all the paint— of course only to be scolded by their four year old on how Baba isn't doing it right. Nevertheless, Jackie's painted pumpkin looks wonderful. She's used different colors with different brush tips, a popsicle stick, and a sponge. The ring around the stem of the pumpkin had been dabbed in blue paint giving it a slightly spotted look, then Jackie decided to paint the entirety of one side green and the other red. Despite how much paint was all over her Baba, there isn't even a speck of the paint on Jackie.

"Aaliyah, babe, don't—" JT sighs with frustration, but quickly schools his expression. "Babe, please don't get your paint covered hands all over the cushions. Aaliyah—"

The disapproval in JT's voice and her lower lip begins to wobble and her hands clench into tight fists. Jackie watches the whole exchange and abandons her pumpkin and her Baba and skips over to Aaliyah. The little girl looks up at her friend and giggles uncontrollably. Malcolm's daughter grasps hold of one of Aaliyah's messy hands— staining her own clean hands— and pulls Aaliyah to the one the little girl had splattered with black and pink paint. Malcolm watches as Jackie helps Aaliyah paint her pumpkin. He smiles with fondness and pride for his child.

"Bright, come over here and paint a pumpkin," Dani orders without any bite. "I want a few teal pumpkins for my stoop and they aren't going to paint themselves."

Malcolm cast a look at Jackie before sitting at an empty seat at the patio table and began to paint one of the plain pumpkins. Dani, Gil, and Malcolm engross in pleasant conversation while they paint the pumpkins to let trick-or-treaters know that non-candy is given out. Even though neither Dani or Gil had children, they were still family, and were always welcome and included in these get-togethers with the kids. Eventually JT and Vijay join the rest of the group, JT groaning as he slides into the plush chair.

"We have a good kid," Vijay comments as he sits next to his boyfriend, grabbing a fine tipped brushed, dipping it in gold paint, and begins work on painting and 'H' on a dried teal pumpkin. 

Malcolm smirks a little. "She's okay." 

"She must get her awesomeness from her daddy." Vijay nudges him with his shoulder. 

He hums in response. "Jackie probably got it from her Baba."

"Yeah, I think you're right."

Malcolm opens his mouth wide with faux surprise and scoffs, eyebrows raised. "Oh really?"

Vijay grins from ear to ear like the Cheshire Cat. "Okay, _maybe_ Jackie got it from both of us." A hint of mischief flickers in his boyfriend's eyes. Barely a second passes before a brief swipe of wet bristles brushes his cheek. "It wouldn't be right if you were the only one without any paint on you."

Malcolm laughs so hard that he almost cries. In his chest the clockwork heart continues on with its steady _tick tock_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Comments & kudos are love.
> 
> Silly fact. This is my **_666th fic_** & this is posted on my 9th wedding anniversary.
> 
> Join us at the Prodigal Son Trash discord server (18+). [Click here.](https://discord.gg/MyKracR)


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